1.19.2014

It felt like summer not January in San Francisco last night
as Eleni Stecopoulos and I walked through the Mission to Alley Cat Books on 24th
and Treat to hear some poetry.

We arrived to catch the tail end of Ivan Argüelles’s
reading. Up next were Will Alexander and Janice Lee, each of whom read for
about 15 minutes, Lee from her new book Damnation
and Alexander from The Sri Lankan
Loxodrome. After abreak,
Alexander and Lee read from their new Solar Luxuriance chapbook, a
collaboration entitledThe Transparent as Witness. The two
poets met some time ago at a reading and soon after decided to work together,
collaborating by email. Alexander sent Lee a piece and she wrote back. Lee noted
how easy this collaborative process was, how little they edited their pieces,
and how a third-voice seems to have entered the work; neither could remember
who had written some of the sections.

The reading was beautifully organized;
Alley Cat is a great venue. This was my first opportunity to hear Will
Alexander and I couldn’t help smiling. His work takes me for a ride; I’m often
not sure where I am going but it is always a cosmic, linguistically juicy trip.
Lee’s work is new to me and this provided an intriguing introduction. While the prose in Damnation reads as straightforward, some of her other books, for
example, Kërotakis, are invested in more
wayward explorations. You can read a review of Kërotakis here at Bookslut.

Here’s an excerpt from The
Transparent as Witness:

As sidereal cortex, there then exists a natural contagion, a
magnetism no longer contained within the personality itself. One then exists as
a ubiquitous solar germination, thereby knowing the secondary aspects of
partially arisen telepathy. The latter being a symptom of what I’ll call the
overwhelming. When Sombrero Galaxy is only a figment of this cortex, we know
that the human field is morphing. Not according to the pre-conditioned idea,
but akin to boulders which transgress the eons. This being the condition of a
spiraling supra-kinetic. It being the hidden power which will allow the blood
to turn green, allowing life to roam outside the palpability of the given. This
being ferocity of insight which assimilates the unknown as motion.

This ferocity of insight we ought to hold on to, the goal
being in reach, being easy to remember, being easy to forget. We enter a new
place and fell the urge to create new memories. Or change old ones to fit the
new paradigm. Memories are memories. They are malleable. They are forgettable.
Painting can be done from inside a canvas, the mutilated shapes and colors that
scream at the hand until they feel finished. Paint a woman’s face in her own
blood. Sleep inside an egg as it slowly cooks in a pot of boiling water. The
fragile shudder of the dream-wolf who nudges at the small of your back. You are
in the wrong place. Or this is the wrong time.

This has nothing in common with personal insular mass or
personal jaundice quaking in the atmosphere, which thereby allows an objective
examination of vertigo, knowing its scales, its rhythms, its optical azures
shaking within the turbulence of eggs. One can then ask about the solar locale
and its referential state of particles. Perhaps they can be called in-human
suns rising and setting over the wrathful sky of Saturn. Perhaps they vary
their vexing angles within a quarter billion miles per hour. In this sense each
planet has its various registrations. Take Earth, with its wastes of ice and
floods, its uninhabitable parching canals, without the need of anthropomorphic
deafening. For instance, without the
chilling posture of Descartes or Hobbes, or hoards of the befuddled following
Jesus Christ. This being the body as etched tungsten attempting to dissect
zodiacs, by means of simulated fire or darkness. Simple nuance is never
decreed. Ghosts are destroyed. Thus, the universe seems willed by an absence of
kindling(10-11).

1.11.2014

"HOW YOU SOUND??" is what we recent fellows are up to. How we sound: our peculiar grasp on, say: a. Melican speech, b. Poetries of the world, c. Our selves (which is attitudes, logics, theories, jumbles of our lives, & all that), d. And the final...The Totality Of Mind: Spiritual...God?? (or you name it): Social (zeitgeist): or Heideggerian umwelt.

MY POETRY is whatever I think I am. (Can I be light and weight-less as a sail?? Heavy & clunking like 8 black boots.) I CAN BE ANYTHING I CAN. I make a poetry with what I feel is useful & can be saved out of all the garbage of our lives. (1959)